One Of Those Days
by ChocolateNobody
Summary: John is having one of those days when everything seems far more irritating then usually. He has an argument with Sherlock and says something he later regrets. In result, Sherlock goes on a case alone. But what if something has happened to him ?
1. Chapter 1

John was sitting in his favourtie armchair, looking at the steam dancing around his still hot tea. He was deep in thoughts yet not being able to focus on anything beside one question he couldn't find the answer to. _How did he let this happen?_

Everything he had said to Sherlock earlier this evening seemed so ridiculus now that he felts so horrible inside.

Of course they were arguing almost everyday and sometimes one of them said one sarcastic comment too much and they didn't talk to each other for some time, but _this?_ Oh, this was far more complicated than an ordinary argument.

John knew it will be a bad day the moment he got up from bed. He got late for work because he hadn't slept at all thanks to Sherlock's loud experiments he clearly had to do at night, even if John asked him not to.

Then Sarah acted like she wanted to irritate him on purpose (Or maybe it was him who found everything so utterly annoying that day?). They split up some time ago but it was still pretty awkward between them and he was struggling with acting normaly towards her. John sometimes wondered why did he let go of such a wonderful woman but then a name of a certain, unbearable person pops out in his mind and he remembers why.

It was raining all day and when he got out of work he realised he hadn't taken any money with him and was forced to walk back home. John tried to be calm, as he always did. But this time he couldn't. He felt a bulge of anger growing in his stomach.

By the time he reached Baker Street he was soaking wet. He found it very difficult to walk upstairs, feeling more and more tired withe very step he took. All he wished for was not to be bothered. John decided he would end this day with a big mug of tea and a good book in his hand.

Apparently things didn't want to go his way. At all.

The moment when he appeared in the living room made Sherlock jump off the sofa he was previously lying on and run towards John, talking about something with excitement. It was probably about the case he was working on right now but, even if he really tried to focus on Sherlock's words, he couldn't understand a single thing. All that he heard was some incoherent mumbling.

He was _so tired._Sherlock probably didn't even realize that water was dripping from his hair and clothes, which made John stand in his very own puddle.  
>The more possible option was that Sherlock saw that right away but didn't bother about it.<p>

- Not now, Sherlock - was all he could manage to say. He tried to speak in a calm, normal voice but it turned out to be a hoarse and weary whisper.

Again, the anger started to burn up inside him. John didn't really know the reason why.  
>If Sherlock could just leave him alone today, everything would be allright tomorrow.<p>

But Sherlock was Sherlock and that was not an option. He followed John to the kitchen still talking about something passionately. John was leaving wet marks behind him, which clearly didn't bother him enough to change his clothes. Catching a cold would be a perfect end of this day anyway.

Thinking that a hot tea is a perfect solution to all his problems right now he walked to the fridge to grab some milk, trying to ignore Sherlock's, now very iritating, voice.

_John, John! Are you even listening ? John!_

He felt that soon he won't be able to take it anymore. This day _had to_ end.  
>John opened the firdge door and starred at the inside of it, blinking a few times. The human fingers that were on the top shelf were in the plastic bag that apparently was torn somewhere and now everything that was under it was covered in blood.<p>

- John, if you were so kind to listen to a word I am saying you would realize how important it is for you to-

- ENOUGH! - John shouted, slamming the fridge door with a loud noise. He hid his face in his hand, inhaling loudly. - Sherlock, that's enough.

- You don't have to repeat yourself. I understood the first time that you are clearly not interested in anything I'm trying to say - was Sherlock's response. He felt quite offended so he decided to add : - Honestly, John, I don't care if you have a bad day but don't act like it's my fault.

- Of course it is your fault! The great, bloody Sherlock Holmes who doesn't care about anyone but himself! - Words were escaping from his mouth without him even realizing that. Suddenly he felt such anger he couldn't control it any longer.

- Don't be ridiculus. Suddenly it bothers you ? It's not like you didn't know that before. - He answered with a sarcastic voice.

Hearing those words made John feel sick. He had a feeling this argument was not like their usual ones. He knew that if one of them didn't stop it's only going to get worse.  
>John didn't feel like letting this go, though.<p>

- I'm always there for you! All I ask for is a little time when I'm not bothered by your existence! It's not so much, is it ? You can be so tiring, Sherlock. So tiring it makes me wonder what exactly am I doing here with you! - John shouted, his chest falling up and down, his breathing shallow.

For a moment there was silence. Sherlock starred at him with his blue eyes like he was looking straight through his soul, making him freeze.

- Then try to work this one out while I go and solve this case by myself. I hope the time I'm out will be enough for you to get some rest from my _tiring existence_.

Sherlock started walking downstairs, followed by an angry shout :

- Right, now get mad at me like you always do and don't come back for hours so I could feel guilty about it! Not this time, Sherlock! - John felt so angry it clouded his mind. Deep inside he alredy knew he was actining rather ridiculus but somehow he couldn't stop the words from falling out of his mouth. At that moment he wanted to hurt him, hurt Sherlock Holmes. Just to see if he could feel anything at all.

John heard the sound of doors closing in a response and that was it. He stood there in silence for a long time, looking at the spot where Sherlock had been standing, suddenly feeling numb.  
>Sighing, he realized he was shivering and decided to finally change his clothes and make some tea.<br>Later John sat on his armchair trying to read a book. He couldn't focus though, and was forced to reread the same line over and over again. Irritated he threw the book away and layed his eyes on the tea instead.

He rubbed his forehead with his hand, feeling very tiredy. _What on earth has gotten to him? _Obviously he had a bad day but that was not an excuse to take it out on Sherlock. John didn't mean a word he had said to him. It was just the anger mixed with tiredness talking through him, still he felt awful about it.

If it wasn't for the argument, he would now chase criminals through London's streets with the only person he really cared about.

Sighing again, he took out his phone, deciding to text Sherlock and join him.

_Where are you? JW_

He waited some time but didn't get a response. Sherlock was probably still mad at him and didn't bother to reply. Swallowing his pride he started to write another one.

_Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't myself. Tell me where you are so I can join you. JW_

Still nothing. He felt a shiver run down his spine so he decided to take a hot shower before he really catched a cold. It turnes out it's not a wise idea to stay in wet, cold clothes such a long time. Besides, he was certain that when he got back a message from Sherlock would surely await him.

To his suprise, he couldn't be more wrong. Usually Sherlock sends him so many messages during a day it now felt weird that he hadn't recived any. That made him slightly worried and guilty that he wasn't there with him right now. If it wasn't for his foolish outburst, he could be by Sherlock's side trying to keep him alive when he solves cases, like he always did.

It could be just a foolish hunch but he had a feeling something went wrong. Sherlock was away for far too long.  
>It could be nothing. He could stay away from Baker Street on purpose and if he found out that John was worried he would laugh at him.<br>Right now it didn't really matter.

He grabbed his coat and went out, trying to figure out how exactly is he going to find him.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm sorry the next part took more time than I expected. The first chapter was written during a sleepless night, so I didn't actually think it over... I suppose this one is a little better. There is not much going on though, it's more about John and his feelings for Sherlock than the actual continuation of the first chapter.  
><strong>**The third one will end this story and I can just hope you will read it till the end. Enjoy (: (Any reviews are more than welcomed!) **

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><p>When John went outside, big puddles, which spread on the streets, were all that was left of the rain. Judging from the dark, cloudy sky though, it could start raining again any moment. He wrapped up in his coat and thought about calling Lestrade for advice. In the end he decided not to, thinking that inspector wouldn't be able to help him in this case.<p>

Then he realized he knows a person that has an eye on Sherlock all the time and knows his exact whereabouts. John found himself slightly embarassed he didn't think about Mycroft before. Sherlock would definitely say something sarcastic about his 'common brain' if he were by his side.

But he wasn't. And it was about time John found out where he is.  
>Reluctantly, he sent Mycroft a desperate message.<p>

_I need to know where Sherlock is. He might be in trouble. JW _

Not willing to wait any longer, he looked around for a cab, thinking that if it goes about his little brother, he wouldn't be forced to wait for Mycroft's response very long.  
>John wasn't mistaken and soon was driving to the chosen direction. He found it quite disturbing that with every passing minute he felt more and more anxious. It would be foolish to think that his predictions could be true, but on the other hand...<p>

If something has happened to Sherlock, he wouldn't forgive himself.

John subconsciously clunched his fists, his heartbeat much faster than usually. He was such a composed person, not many things made him loose control. As a soldier he learnt to keep emotions on a leech when it was needed. He could be burning up inside but still remain calm on the outside.

But with Sherlock ? With Sherlock nothing was that simple.

He could read him like an open book anyway, so it was not neccessary for John to control himself around Sherlock, he knew everything (_and more_) anyway. The fact that his actions and feelings were so _obvious_ for Sherlock was not what bothered him, though.

The most disturbing thing was what he actually _felt_ towards the only consulting detective. John cared about Sherlock so much sometimes it scared him (or maybe _fascinated _him?). He could kill for him without even blinking. Well, actually he did. Not even a week of them knowing each other has passed and he was alredy living with him on Baker Street, killing bad cabbies.

It was the most reckless decission he has ever made. Still, it felt like the only right one.

John thought about himself as a nice type of guy. He was always kind to others (especially now, that Sherlock was insulting the whole world around him), always there for people. Nevertheless, he found it hard to get really attached to someone. He never felt the need to be very close with another person. That was probably the reason why his relationships never lasted long. He had the need to feel the warmth of someone else right next to him, but opening his heart... It was far more difficult.

To his and everyone else's suprise, John immediately felt strangely close attachement to Sherlock. He fascinated him. Nothing was boring with Sherlock Holmes and he had to admit watching his brilliant mind work was probably the best part of his day.  
>John simply enjoyed being around him.<p>

Maybe it felt so good to be by his side because Sherlock knew everything before a word has been spoken. Maybe the fact that John could be truly himself around Sherlock without being forced to act, hide his feelings, was the reason he clinged to him so much.

When he got back from Iraq, he was so alone. The numbness surrounded him like a thick fog, making him belive he will never feel anything again. Then Sherlock showed up and before John realized what's going on, he was pulled into his world of chasing criminals, playing violin at ungodly hours and solving cases on a nicotine patch diet.  
>It was hard to admit, especially when Sherlock drove him mad (which was almost all the time, to say the least) but truth to be told, John has never felt better than <em>now<em>, walking side by side with the sociopathic genius.

Sighing, he rested his forhead on the cool window. It was probably the longest cab ride in his life.

Finally the car stopped, rousing John from his meditations. He payed the driver and climbed out of the car, finding himself in a dark alley of wretched tenements and not a single living soul. This place gave him a strange and uneasy feeling, which made John curse Sherlock mentally for taking his gun.

He looked around, thinking it would be nice if Sherlock could solve cases in at least safer looking places. Although that would be probably too _boring_ for his taste.  
>Not knowing which path should he choose, he decided to go deeper in the alley and hope to be lucky enough to find Sherlock there.<p>

John passed a few piles of litter and some cards, yet his friend was nowhere near. He started to wander off the main street, disappointed that his search was getting him nowhere. Was it possible that Mycroft got it wrong and Sherlock wasn't there ? In the act of desperation John grabbed his phone and decided to call his friend. Sherlock hardly ever answers calls and now that he didn't reply to John's previous text messages, the idea he would pick up was verging on impossible. Still it was better than doing nothing and getting lost in the dark alleys.

To his great suprise, after a few signals John realized he actually _hears_ Sherlock's phone somewhere nearby. He listened carefully to the ringtone, trying to locate it. John slowly walked in the direction where the sound was getting louder. He looked around, his heart beating faster, but Sherlock wasn't there. So how could he hear his phone so well ?

It was then that he saw something lying on the ground. Feeling his stomach twisted painfuly, he picked it up. John sighed, putting his phone back to the pocket. There was no use in calling Sherlock if he had his phone in his hands. How was it possible, though ? Sherlock never leaves his phone behind. Under no circumstances. So how...

John took a closer look to the phone and saw that his last message to Sherlock was still appearing on its screen.  
>It was a shot in the dark, but maybe Sherlock was reading his text when someone attacked him ? And because of the distraction he struggled with the atacker, loosing his phone in the result ?<br>This one time John wished his deductions were wrong. He hide Sherlock's phone and thought what to do next. Mycroft could track his brother down only by his phone, so Sherlock could be anywhere. John sent his text a few hours ago, _everything_ could happen.

He shook his head to banish the awful thoughts that started to haunt his mind again. It was not the time for this. He needed to do something, fast.

Sherlock was in this area for a reason. Even if he got into a fight and started to chase after someone, those dark alleys were the most probable place to find him. If John only listened to what Sherlock said about the case before... He closed his eyes, trying to focus and remind himself anything that could be useful right now.  
>Wasn't this case about a gang that faked money ? Or selled drugs ? John snarled in frustration, he really couldn't remember a single thing. Then it ocurred to him, Sherlock said something about the old factory. Repeatedly. He knew nothing about the case, but that old factory sticked in his mind because Sherlock was showing off his knowledge of London and how he could locate the building without much effort.<p>

That's it. This abandoned factory had to be somewhere in this area. He grabbed his phone again and tried to locate the nearest one. It took him quite a long time, for he was not as keen in this as Sherlock was. John felt more and more irritated with this _stupid phone_ when he finally got something. It wasn't that far from where he was now, he could walk there in fifteen minutes.  
>And run in less than ten.<p>

John could see the building growing in the distance when he decided to stop and catch a breath. He didn't exactly know what to do next. Slowly, he began to move forward, looking around carefully. He wasn't sure if someone was there, but his instincts told him to focus and to be prepared.

He stopped near the entrance, trying to remain in shadows, unnoticed. John strained his ears for any signs of people being inside, but he didn't hear a thing. Just then, a single moan broke the silence. He rushed forward, seing someone lying on the ground near one of the factory's walls.  
>The night was pitch-dark and without any street lamps nearby it was hard to recognise the long coat and curly hair of Sherlock's. When he came closer though, his pale face couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's.<p>

- Sherlock! Are you allright ? - Was the first thing that slipped out from John's mouth. He tried to speak rather quietely, fearing someone else might still wonder around here.

In response, he recieved another moan, much louder this time. Sherlock touched his head, wincing in pain. He started to mumble something incoherently, his eyes remaining closed.

- Sherlock ? Can you hear me ? - John's voice was filled with worry. He touched Sherlock's face, looking for any injuries. It was a hard task without any source of light, but there was nothing more he could do at the moment. Carefully, he moved his fingers over Sherlock's neck, then moved to the back of his head, gently touching his skin.

A soft murmur escaped Sherlock's mouth and John couldn't resist not to smile. He stopped immediately when he felt something warm and wet at the top of his fingers - the dark liquid was definitely blood. He must have been pushed hard on the wall and hurt himself on the back of his head, loosing counsciousnes.

This could be serious. John shook Sherlock by the shoulder, trying to make him open his eyes.  
>It worked and soon his beautiful, piercing eyes glowed in the darkness.<p>

- Sherlock, look at me. Do you remember what happened ?

It took some time before Sherlock focused his gaze on John.

- John ? What are you doing here ? - He asked with a hoarse, worn out voice. Sherlock was drifting off every few seconds, finding it hard to stay awake. He closed his eyes for a little longer and than opened them suddenly, pointing his finger at John's face. - You were angry at me. You stayed at Baker Street. - After a short pause, he added. - This is not Baker Street.

John sighed, getting really worried. Sherlock had to be in a really bad condition if he 'deduced' things so well.

- You are right, I was angry, but I'm not anymore, ok ? I'm sorry. Look, we need to take you back home.

- I lost my phone.

- It's ok, I found it. Come on, I will help you stand up.

John grabbed him by his shoulders and picked him up. Sherlock moaned in pain, resting his back on the wall. John took his friend's head in his hands and gently turned it right, so he could get a better look on the wound. Fortunately it didn't look that bad (at least not in this darkness). Sherlock was confused and talking nonsense, but besides that he didn't notice anything disturbing.

Sherlock sighed and leaned forward, resting his head on John's shoulder.

- Do I really tire you that much, John ?

John shuddered, remembering their last converstation.

- So you don't remember why were you lying on the ground, blood dripping from your head, but you remember those foolish words I said earlier ? I didn't expect that from the world's only consultive detective.

He heard a soft chuckle in response that tickled his ear. _  
>Foolish words. So he didn't actually mean them<em>, thought Sherlock. The world started spinning and he grabbed John's arm, trying not to fall. Feeling dizzy, he started to mumble something again.

John grabbed him by the waist, taking one of Sherlock's arms around his neck. It was about time they went back to Baker Street. John had to check if nothing serious has happened to Sherlock. And to their friendship.

It felt like this night was never going to end.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm so sorry for the delay... Can I even call it this way? It's been months! In my defense I have to say I didn't feel like writting at all. I started this chapter ages ago and today I felt like it's about time to finish it. I'm not proud of it at all. I must admit I just needed closure, writting without any plan whatsoever. I just wanted to end it so I could move on to a few other ideas that I have in my mind. **

**This chapter is very delicate. It doesn't bring anything new to the story, it feels more like a sootihng epilogue, really. I still hope you will enjoy it (and forgive me for being away for so long!). I love every each and one of you that stayed with me till now. Thank you. **

**I'm back. That's a promise. **

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><p>John had a hard time taking Sherlock back to Baker Street. He was forced to drag his friend back to the main street and prevent him from falling asleep at the same time. On top of that, Sherlock wasn't very cooperative, muttering something under his nose and stopping for no particular reason every few minutes.<p>

He was not the one to complain, though. In fact, John enjoyed every second of this unbelievable night, now that Sherlock was with him _almost_ in one peace. It still worried him when his friend winced in pain but he was more and more certain the damage wasn't profound.

Now all he had to do was to bring Sherlock back home - who would have thought it would be this hard? When they finally found a taxi and John managed to shove Sherlock inside, he told the driver their address and sat back, sighing loudly. He squeezed detective's arm a little, just to keep him awake. In response he heard a soft murmur which made corners of his mouth twitch in a little smile.  
>Checking Sherlock's wound again, he realized that blood was still dripping from it in a slow, lazy stream. It didn't surprise him, for all head injuries bled profusely, but it made him more eager to be back at Baker Street and staunch the flow.<p>

The ride back home passed surprisingly fast and soon John was climbing out of the vehicle and dragging Sherlock along. He paid the driver and grabbed his friend by the waist, taking Sherlock's right arm around his neck. After a few stumbles he managed to take them both to their living room.  
>There, he carefully helped Sherlock sit on his armchair and rushed for the first-aid kit. Finally it was possible to see Sherlock's head injury right and John didn't hesitate even a second to do so.<p>

Although dry blood along with dirt that stuck to his hair made the wound look nasty, after a closer look, John could tell it wasn't anything serious. He felt like a weight was lifted from his heart.

- Luckily it's possible you won't even need any stiches. – The doctor said but he didn't notice any response from Sherlock who just stared blankly on the wall. John looked at him in silence for a while, feeling the tension between them suddenly growing stronger. – Right… I'm going to get a wet towel so I can clean your wound properly. An infection would be an awful end of this night.

With the last words still floating awkwardly in the air, he disappeared in the bathroom. John couldn't explain why he felt so nervous all at once but right now he didn't have time to deal with his incomprehensible emotions. He wet the towel in warm water, squeezed it a little and went back to Sherlock. John stood behind Sherlock's armchair and started to gently wash off all the blood and dirt from his hair. Consulting detective hissed in disapproval and John felt the urge to joke about it saying something like "Don't be such a baby, Sherlock, you had much worse" but unexpectedly he realized he is not able to do that.

- I'm sorry – was all that escaped from his mouth. The words sounded stiffly and blank, tearing the silence reluctantly.

- Frankly, he couldn't tell himself if he was apologizing only for the pain he caused a second before or for everything that had happened that day.

Again, Sherlock didn't respond in any way and John got back to his task. When the wound was clean, he tossed the bloody towel on the ground, keeping in mind he will have to take care of it later, and reached for the first-aid kit again.

- Almost done. I just need some peroxide and then I can bandage your head. It may hurt a little.

Sherlock nodded slightly and clenched fists, determined that this time he won't show he feels any pain. This made John smile just a little, knowing that if Sherlock act stubbornly again maybe he will recover sooner that John thought. Still, this silent treatment was at least disturbing.  
>When John finished bandaging his friend's head he found himself yearning for Sherlock's attention, which surprised him and made him feel uneasy at the same time.<p>

- Sherlock, say something. – Words that meant to sound like a gentle order turned out to be a helpless request.

- I feel dizzy – was all he got as a response.

Sighing, he helped Sherlock stand up and slowly laid him on the sofa. Now that they faced each other, his friend's piercing blue eyes were focused on John's face, which made him want to get out of the room as fast as possible. Although Sherlock's wound was taken care of, he was still shivering and, even if he didn't admit it, most likely in pain.

- Don't fall asleep, ok? I'm going to make you some tea and bring painkillers. Who knows how long you were laying there out in the cold.

In response he received a single nod and with that he disappeared in the kitchen, taking the dirty towel along the way. When John got back with two mugs in his hands and some pills in the pocket of his trousers, Sherlock was sitting with his head resting on his chest.

- I laid you down for a reason, you know.

- Don't want to – mumbled Sherlock, raising his head looking in John's eyes once more, as if he was searching for some answers there.

_Acting like a 5 years old again, he recovers surprisingly fast indeed_, was John thoughts when he put mugs on the table, one closer to his friend. Then he went back to the kitchen for a glass of water and put it right next to the mug, taking painkillers out of his pocket at the same time.

- Here, take two and then lay down.

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. John restrained the urge of putting hands on his waist and scolding him.

- It's for your own good. You're clearly in pain.

- Clearly? – Sherlock repeated mockingly. He rested his head on his chest again, finding it too tiresome to keep it higher.

- You got knocked down by someone and hit your head. Do you remember who it was?

John awaited the answer for quite some time standing in front of his friend awkwardly. When Sherlock finally looked up at John with eyes wide open, he frowned, shook his head and said:

- What?

John sighed, feeling defeated. He decided then not to torment his friend about the cause of his present state and wait till Sherlock was well rested, or at least when he was after a good long sleep. Now his friend's health was the priority and after a few attempts of persuasion John managed to convince him to take the painkillers. They weren't the strong kind since Sherlock didn't act like he was in pain but John hoped they were good enough to make him drowsy.

He then grabbed Sherlock's mug and put it in his hands. Fearing his friend might yet not be strong enough to hold it himself, he allowed the pale, ice-cold fingers to connect with his, helping him drink the tea this way as well as making sure he drinks it all. John hoped that the hot beverage would warm Sherlock up but not being fully convinced it did he decided to grab two of his own blankets and wrapped him with them carefully.

- Now, lay down and don't argue with me because I swear I will force you otherwise.

Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't resist at all. The pills starting to work was a good enough explanation for John. He helped him lay on the couch so that the bandages wouldn't loosen up nor bother him and then got back to his armchair, taking a sip of his own tea. The silence has fallen yet again, the awkwardness of it making it hard for John to sit comfortably. His eyes were focused on Sherlock's face, looking for any signs of discomfort or pain.

- The blankets smell of you.

- Sorry?

- You heard me.

After this quick, unexpected exchange of words Sherlock yawned and closed his eyes. John couldn't help but to think he did it on purpose, saying something like that and then 'escaping' into sleep – avoiding the reaction to his words. John also knew it was ridiculous to think this way so he forced the warmth that was slowly overpowering him to back off. He cleared his throat just to do _something_ and kept silent. There was so much going on in his head at the moment. He felt guilty for what happened to Sherlock, ashamed he didn't prevent it and, most importantly, scared he made some irreparable damages to their relationship. _Whatever that is… I would do anything to know what we actually are._

Suddenly he heard Sherlock mumbling something, a frown appearing on his face. This night made John paranoid enough to think his thoughts were somehow heard and now being mocked by his friend. Or was he just thinking too loud?

- I can go if it helps you fall asleep – he suggested and awaited the answer.

- Don't. – Sherlock responded firmly, still not opening his eyes. – Stay here.

It sounded like a command but John didn't complain. It was as close to affection as it could get and he would take it happily. He smiled, even though Sherlock couldn't see him, and said:

- I'm not going anywhere then.

It felt like those words filled in holes that were made that day. He had a feeling Sherlock understood they meant much more than just sitting in the armchair and waiting for him to fall asleep. John thought that Sherlock may have noticed that before he himself did. On the other hand they weren't an apology and that is something that John is ought to say, preferably as soon as possible. Right now though, he couldn't complain. The day that could have been a dark nightmare was slowly ending. Restless hours were fading into the past's memories and the next sunrise promised changes. Perhaps they will argue and the air won't get any less thicker but it would be all right, eventually. In the end John will be always the one waiting by Sherlock's side. This realization brought him comfort and gave him enough strength to think that even if days like this were to happen again (_oh, they will happen all right_) they are going to work it out.

- I will stay by your side, Sherlock.


End file.
